


Sentiment is a Chemical Defect Found on the Losing Side

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Battle of Torchwood, Canary Wharf, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are human. You will be converted. You will become like us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiment is a Chemical Defect Found on the Losing Side

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my laptop for months, and I thought I'd put it online already, but apparently not. So, here. Because I just really fucking love Sherlock/Torchwood crossovers. 
> 
> Also, Ianto is totally not dead. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!!

He could cry with relief when the call connects, but he doesn’t, he holds himself together.

“Sherlock. Oh thank god, Sherlock.” Mostly. He mostly holds himself together, his voice shaking over his words.

_“Mycroft?”_

“Sherlock. I don’t have much time. I need…” his voice breaks and he pauses to take a breath and steady himself. “I need you to find somewhere secret and safe. Really secret and safe, somewhere even I can’t find you, somewhere no one could find you. Do you understand me?” Mycroft hears the screaming going on a few rooms from where he’s hiding. His breath catches.

 _“Mycroft? What’s wrong?”_ Mycroft can hear the frown in Sherlock’s voice.

“Please. I just-I just need you to be safe. Whatever you hear in the streets, whatever you hear, ignore it, just find somewhere to hide. Somewhere no one will ever find you. Understand?” the stomping of metallic feet is getting closer.

 _“Mycroft. Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening. Where are you? You’re scaring me.”_ Mycroft can hear that, too. The panic and fear in Sherlock’s voice.

“I know, Sherlock. I know. God, I-I know. I’m sorry. Just do as I ask, please? For the first time in your life. Just do as I ask!” he pleads quietly, tears threatening to fall. The door crashes open and Mycroft drops the phone and stands up, back straight, shoulders squared, head high.

 _“Mycroft. Mycroft?”_ he can hear Sherlock screaming from the phone.

“You will be converted.” The distorted mechanical voice tells him. Mycroft shakes his head.

“No. I don’t think I shall.” He says, voice thick with confidence he doesn’t feel, staring at the trio of Cybermen.

 _“Mycroft?!”_ Sherlock’s still screaming.

“You will be converted.” The mechanical voice says again. Mycroft raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

“No. I don’t think I shall be. Become a metal man like you? No. Tell me, are you one of the originals? Or did you work here once?” he asks, leaning against his umbrella, letting it take some of his weight.

“You will be converted.”

“I don’t think you understand me. What is there left of me to convert? You wish to provide us a life without emotions? I don’t _feel_ emotions. They’re tedious. Disruptive. _Boring._ I have achieved what you could not. I am you. In the flesh, so to speak. There is nothing more you can do to me to make my life… better.”

“You are human. You will be converted. You will become like us.”

“I already am like you. I know how the original process should go. You remove the brain, place it in a metal body. But, this process is different. You’re coating the human flesh in Cyberman metal. I am more like you than the bastardized creations being made below us. You have to do something extra to them, don’t you? You have to give them some sort of filter, to cut off their emotions. The body is just a vessel for the brain. Unlike you and your creators, I do not need a metal body to feel _nothing._ “ There’s the sound of gunfire and Mycroft watches as the trio of Cybermen crumble to the ground. Mycroft stares, confused. Into the doorway appears a young man, holding a rather odd looking gun. The man, he’s a boy, really, smiles at him.

“Sorry for the delay. Nice show there, mate. We’re working to get the situation under control.”

“Who are you?” Mycroft asks, voice thick with shock and relief. The boy’s grin widens.

“Torchwood. Yourself?” Mycroft can tell there’s something not _right_ about that explanation, but he lets it go.

“Mycroft Holmes.” He says, swallowing heavily. The boy’s eyes widen, and a smirk appears on his face.

“Right. Pleasure. I’d suggest you stay here and hide. But I’m not in the habit of telling the British Government what to do. Good-day!” the boy says before disappearing off down the corridor. Mycroft blinks at the doorway for a long moment, catching his breath, putting himself back together.

“ _Mycroft?”_ he hears Sherlock’s voice from the phone and he scoops it up.

“Sherlock? Sherlock. Please tell me you’re safe. Please.” His heart is hammering in his chest.

 _“I’m-I-no. No, I’m not. There are these… these things breaking into houses and… what’s going on, Mycroft? Who were you talking to?”_ Sherlock sounds confused, lost, and unsure.

“Are you hidden?” he’s desperate, so desperate. Nothing matters if Sherlock is gone.

 _“I’m… yes. I am. Please tell me what is happening. Please.”_ Sherlock’s pleading now.

“I can’t, Sherlock. I can’t. I-I have to go. I’ll call you when it’s safe. I’m sorry.” Mycroft says, voice thick.

“ _Don’t die.”_

“And you.” He says, ending the call. He gathers himself together, dusts down his suit and strolls out of the door. Bodies of humans and Cybermen litter the floor. He averts his eyes. Walking. He gets down to the lower levels of the Tower, perplexed by the ease at which he does this, and then he stops. Where is he meant to go? The Cybermen have infested London, the whole world from the sounds of it.

“Lisa. Lisa. It’s okay. I’m here. It’s alright.” A welsh voice breaks into his momentary panic and he spins. A young man is carrying a girl in his arms, poor girl looks half converted. Mycroft swallows the bile in his throat. “Bloody Torchwood!” the Welshman cries, his voice breaking. For a moment, when Mycroft looks at them, it’s not the girl he sees, it’s Sherlock, and it’s not the Welshman he sees either, it’s himself. Something cold clutches Mycroft’s heart. He makes up his mind, stepping closer.

“Do you need help?” he asks, voice steady. The Welshman startles and looks up.

“No… thank you. I… I’ve got her.” He says, Mycroft sees the tears streaming from his eyes. Mycroft nods, numbly.

“I-okay. I-I hope she’ll be alright.” He says after what feels like an eternity, the words almost catching in his throat. “What’s-what’s your name?”

“Ianto.” The man says, pausing. “Ianto Jones.”

“A pleasure, Ianto Jones, though the circumstances of our meeting could be better. I’m Mycroft Holmes.” And even after everything, even after the Cybermen, and his call to Sherlock, and the boy who saved him, and the fact that _this boy_ is standing before him holding his partially converted girlfriend in his arms, the fact that this boy clearly walked right into the Conversion Area and took his girlfriend back. Even after all that, the thing that gets Mycroft is that Ianto’s eyes go wide with recognition and he takes a step away. Mycroft gives a broken little laugh. “Please. Don’t.” he shakes his head. “I…” but whatever he wants to stay is cut off by the sound of stomping metallic feet. “Take her. Take her and go.”

“But…”

“Just take her and get out of here. Now.” Ianto goes. And Mycroft looks around him, searching for some kind of weapon. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

* * *

They dig him out from the rubble, rush him away for medical treatment. All he wants is to know Sherlock is alive. They can’t tell him anything. He manages to borrow a nurse’s phone, he’s so thankful to her as he dials the number he knows off by heart. It connects after the first ring.

“Sherlock.”

 _“Mycroft! They wouldn’t tell me anything. They wouldn’t tell me anything at all. I asked but they wouldn’t…”_ listening to Sherlock break down crying over the phone just cements in his mind how not at all normal or acceptable the situation is. Mycroft can count on one hand the amount of times Sherlock has cried since becoming a man.

“I know how you feel, I… they wouldn’t tell me anything either. I’m so sorry.”

_“You’re alright?”_

“I’m… in hospital. I will be fine. How are you?”

_“I’m fine. The… things. The metal men, they’re gone now. I waited until they were gone. London’s a fucking mess, Mycroft, I don’t know if you’ve seen it.”_

“It’s not just London, and no, I haven’t seen it.”

_“Can you tell me what happened now?”_

“When I see you again. I- can you come to the hospital, please? I just- I-“ and suddenly everything catches up to him, his breath hitching in his throat, and he breaks. Sherlock somehow, through Mycroft’s blubbering, manages to get the name of the hospital and says he’s on his way before ending the call.

* * *

Mycroft is in control of himself again by the time Sherlock appears, smiling apologetically. Mycroft stares at his brother intently.

“My apologies for the delay, I had to have you readmitted as ‘Mycroft Holmes’ rather than ‘John Doe #601’, I don’t think there’s been enough time to have everyone officially identified.” Sherlock says, sinking down into the chair beside Mycroft’s bed. “You’re… gaining a security team, now that your people know you are alive.” Mycroft bites his lip, not hearing a word his brother is saying, as he reaches his arm out for Sherlock hesitantly. Sherlock frowns and reaches out, taking Mycroft’s hand with his own. Mycroft’s lower lip wobbles, his eyes clouding with tears.

“It’s _really_ you.” He whispers, voice cracking. Sherlock nods, covering their joint hands with his other one.

“Yes. It’s really me. I- can you tell me what happened?” he asks, hesitant. Mycroft tries. He tries to explain everything but there’s just some things words can’t describe.

* * *

Mycroft has nightmares for months.

In his nightmares, sometimes he’s walking through the Tower, a partially converted Sherlock cradled in his arms.

 _“Sherlock. Sherlock, it’s alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re alright. You’re alright.”_ _He cries, carrying Sherlock out of what has to be the pits of Hell._

Sometimes in his nightmares, Sherlock is standing in front of him, but he isn’t Mycroft anymore. He’s one of those metal men, one of those Cybermen.

_“You will be converted. You will become like us.” He says to Sherlock, who just shakes his head._

_“No, I won’t. I’m just here for my brother, and then he and I are going… far away.”_

_“Sentiment. You are Sherlock Holmes. Before my conversion, I was known as Mycroft Holmes.” He says with that mechanical voice, and Sherlock screams. Mycroft steps forward and starts dragging him away._

_“It’s alright, Myc, it’s alright. I forgive you.” Sherlock says, over and over and over again. “I forgive you.” He whispers as Mycroft pushes him into the Conversion chamber. Mycroft walks away as the screaming starts._

No matter what nightmare he has, he always wakes up screaming.

* * *

He tries to track down Ianto Jones, he tries. But all he knows is that Ianto Jones got his girlfriend out of the Tower and they disappeared off the grid together. Mycroft hopes that one day they’ll meet again.

* * *

Sherlock makes one request of Mycroft. Just one.

“Stay away from Torchwood.” And Mycroft obeys.

* * *

It’s not until a year later, when he’s finally started shaking himself free from the nightmares, that Mycroft finds out Ianto Jones got himself dragged back into Torchwood. He had no one to keep him from going back, and from the reports, Ianto went back to try and save Lisa, an endeavour that resulted in failure.

The nightmares endure. But so does Mycroft Holmes. And so, for that matter, does Ianto Jones.


End file.
